So Much More
by persevera
Summary: An unexpected encounter leads to the possibility of a different future for former enemies. Written for The First Ever RLt Holiday Fic Exchange!
1. Detente

The slopes were heaped with packed snow and dusted with a more recent fall. The sun bounced off of it like a mirror and caught the look of exasperation on the young woman's face.

"I know how to ski; I really don't need help," Hermione Granger said pointedly to the muscle-bound man in the thick sweater and down vest, who was determined to give her hands-on instruction.

"Now you just want to bend your knees a little more and lean forward," he said, finding it necessary to put his hands on her slim hips then an arm around her waist.

"I know what I'm doing," she insisted, trying to extricate herself from his grasp.

"Oh, sorry," he said, as he accidentally grazed the side of her breast.

Her temper rose. She was about to pull out her wand, when the mauling instructor suddenly exclaimed, "Whoa, whoaaa...0hhh," as he went sliding without poles in a wide slant that would put him on the bunny slope.

Hermione knew magic when she saw it. She looked around for the source of the spell.

"Don't mention it, happy to help," said a teasing voice behind her.

She looked back and saw a tall, blond young man approaching her, slipping his wand back into the sleeve of his jacket. "Malfoy? What are you doing here?" she asked with open hostility.

Only a few months earlier she and her former classmate from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had fought on opposing sides in a wizards' war that culminated in a fierce battle at the school.

"Thank you just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?" Draco observed, much more jovial than the almond-eyed girl who still glared at him.

"I can take care of myself," she responded coldly, turning back to the slope and launching herself down its diamond facet.

He followed. At the bottom he continued as though uninterrupted, "I have no doubt you can handle yourself against a fresh wizard that you could openly hex, but it didn't look like you had very much experience with handsy Muggles. That requires a little finesse."

"Ah," interjected Hermione, "and you call an Olympic alternate skidding uncontrollably down a beginner's hill an example of a nuanced spell?"

"No," he smirked, "but I call it hilarious."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Yes, it was quite funny."

It occurred to Draco that this was the first time in all the years of their acquaintance that they had smiled at each other. Then he realized he'd missed something. "What did you say?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes and repeated in an exaggerated tone, "I _asked _what are you doing here at a Muggle ski lodge?"

He grinned sheepishly and led her to a bench. "Muggle skiing has been a guilty pleasure of mine for a few years."

"Really," she said, her eyebrows drawn in skepticism.

"Yes," he answered. "You've been to my house. Can you imagine that it's ever been filled with much holiday cheer? So since I was fifteen, I've told my parents that I was spending the holiday with Goyle and then threatened him not to expose me."

Hermione looked at the imperious Draco with surprise. "But how can you stand to be here with Muggles?"

His grin was all smarm. "I won't pretend that there's not an increase in minor accidents while I'm here, but I do find Muggle girls are a bit more tolerable in ski pants, as are some witches," he added, concentrating on the long lines and curves of Hermione's legs under the stretchy fabric.

She stood with her wand raised. "As you said, I know what to do about fresh wizards."

With his legs stretched out and his arms over the back of the bench, Draco cajoled, "Aww, come on, Granger, the minister is meeting with former Death Eaters for reconciliation. Can't we declare our own detente, at least for the time that we're here? Or do you want to continue to be harassed by he-man snow bunnies?"

The laughter and conviviality from the people in the distance, not to mention Malfoy's uncharacteristic pleasantness before her, had their influence on the staunchly principled young witch and she lowered her wand.

"That's better," he said with a wide smile. He pulled out his wand again to quickly remove their skis then slung both pairs over his shoulder. "Come on," he offered, "I'll buy you a hot chocolate."

In the lodge, festooned with evergreens, the usually antagonistic pair sat in front of the open fireplace. Hermione watched the fire and Draco found himself more interested in the effect the flames had on her skin, eyes and hair.

"What brings you here?" he finally asked her. She turned her head to where he sat in a cushioned chair catty-cornered to her sofa.

"I'm here with my parents. They asked me to spend the holiday with them after I found them in Australia and restored their memories."

He looked at her quizzically and she explained, "I altered them before the start of the war to protect them."

"Very clever," Draco said in a low voice. "I've really never given you credit for what a good witch you are."

Her face, warmed by the fire, registered her surprise at his compliment. "Thank you."

Draco was beginning to feel overly warm. He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and moved to the other end of the sofa so he wasn't quite so close to the fire. "What's Weasley doing without you? I thought the two of you were inseparable, the good 'ship Grangley and all."

"The what?"

Draco chuckled. "How is it that I know more about Muggle culture than you? Couples or 'ships'," he emphasized with air quotes, "are identified by a blending of their names."

"Oh," she responded, turning back to the fire, "well, there is no Grangley now, if there ever was." Her voice sounded both bitter and sad.

He knew it was wrong to feel a lift in his heart but still, he felt it. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Hermione looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Then why are you smiling?"

He shrugged. "I'm making efforts to change the way I feel about people, not only Muggles, but some from Hogwarts that I didn't let myself get to know, but I really can't stand that prat or Potter."

She looked at him and grinned. "Well, I suppose you know their feeling for you is mutual. Then what makes me different from my accomplices?"

"You mean besides the ski pants," he said boldly, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa and twisting his body toward her.

She leaned farther back in the corner. "I'd like to think I have a little more to offer," she said, somewhat offended.

"Oh sure," Draco quickly amended, "You're noble, brave, intelligent, resourceful, et cetera, but never underestimate the value of beautiful legs," he concluded, his grey eyes absorbing the firelight to remind Hermione of sunrise.

She gave her head a small shake and stood. "I should return to my cabin. My parents are probably back from shopping by now."

He rose to stand next to her and she looked up at him. She was taller than Harry and only a bit shorter than Ron, so looking up at a young man felt different to her.

"Can we meet here tomorrow morning? I'll keep you from being bothered by the Olympic has-been."

She dropped her eyes. "I don't think so. I wouldn't want to distract from everyone else's ski pants." Raising her head again, she concluded, "Thank you for the hot chocolate. Good-bye, Draco."

He watched her leave, his shoulders drooping in disappointment, and recalled their unpleasant past...  
..._Nobody cares for your opinion, you filthy little mudblood..._He dropped his blond head and sat back down, pressing his fingers harshly against his temples. _How dare you speak to me!..._He winced. _You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!_

He leaned back with a heavy sigh, ignoring the two young women wearing eager smiles, who had just sat down in the chairs on either side of him.

Was there too much bad history between him and the brilliant, intriguing Muggle-born for them to overcome? Could he make her forget all that, or, at least, put it aside? _I got this far, didn't I?_ he said to himself. He rose from the sofa with renewed purpose. "I'll get what I want," he proclaimed, earning even more attention from the pretty Muggles flanking him.


	2. Time Together

The sound of carols and buzz of conversation in the lodge made for a pleasant atmosphere for Hermione's breakfast with her parents, up to the moment that two giggling young women entered with Malfoy. She tried to brush off the twinge that she felt as annoyance at his being there, but she couldn't stop glancing at them or gripping her fork more tightly when the girls went into a new spurt of laughter.

"All of this noise seems to be giving me a headache," she explained to her parents as she rose from her chair. "I think I'll go back to the cabin and lie down for a while."

"Alright, dear. We're having lunch with a couple we met yesterday in the village so if we don't see you on the slopes, it will be later this evening," her mother said.

Hermione gave a tight nod and left the lodge. "It's my own fault," she ruminated in a small voice walking with her head down toward the cabin. "I chose Ron's family over them so many times, they had to develop other interests." She felt the sting of her first tears on her chafed face. "Now that I don't have Ron, I don't have his family either. I really don't have anyone."

"Feeling all right, Granger?" Hermione raised her head and saw Draco standing before her. There was no reason to ask how he'd gotten there. He'd simply Apparated from the lodge to block her path.

"How did you get away from your tolerable Muggles?" she asked snidely, walking around him. "For that matter, _why_ did you get away from your tolerable Muggles?"

He fell into step beside her. "You're much more interesting and just as pretty." She turned up her red, tear-stained face to him to indicate her cynicism at his remark.

"Why are you crying on holiday? Is it because of Weasley?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head vigorously. "I'm not crying; it's just cold," she answered, folding her arms across her chest as she continued toward the cabin.

"Then why don't you just Apparate to wherever you're going, do a spell to keep warm, something?"

She stopped and turned on him. Why was he suddenly being considerate of her when he'd been so horrible to her in the past? She unleashed on him the anger and frustrations that she'd collected for some time. "Because I'm a Mudblood, remember?" she shouted, taking advantage of their being the only people in the vicinity. "I'm a lesser creature, right? I don't deserve the comforts of magic."

Draco looked down. "You've earned your magic," he said softly. "You've studied and practiced your craft and it's obvious that somewhere in your family tree, there were powerful wizards and witches. I'm sorry for the things I've said to you, for hurting you. Please, just...let me get around it. I'm not going to Obliviate you, so I wish you could think of me as a different person than the one who did those things. Think of me as someone you can like."

Hermione's strong jaw seemed to soften, releasing some of its tension. "Why?" she asked. "Why do you care all of a sudden about my liking you? And don't say it's because of my legs."

He sighed deeply, pushing enough visible air out of his body to momentarily block his view of the girl before him. "It's more than that," he said, beginning to pace. "You're a good person. You might know a lot of them but I don't. I'm really trying to be better myself. Maybe I need somebody to help me with that, someone that I can model myself on."

She gave a humorless laugh. "You can't model yourself on me," she said, resuming her stroll to her cabin. "We have absolutely nothing in common."

He put his hands on her arms and turned her to face him. "We have more in common with each other than we do with anyone else here, and not just magic. I saw you with your parents. That forced familiarity... I know it well."

He saw the tears pooling anew in her brown sugar-colored eyes. He produced a handkerchief and handed it to her. "I'm staying here as long as you are," he said, "and while we're here, I want you to think of me as your ally and friend."

Hermione dabbed her eyes and leaned weakly against him as he pulled her into a hug.

_I might never want to leave, _he said to himself, for the first time in his life offering comfort to a good person having a bad day.

* * *

Over the next few days the young couple discovered that they had more in common than they would have imagined. They had similar appreciation for music, books and ironic humor. They'd both been very good students and were better than the average witch and wizard.

"See that woman sitting alone at the table by the window and the slouching man who just walked in?" Draco asked, as he and Hermione were having dinner together. She nodded.

"I can make them fall in love," he said assuredly.

"You shouldn't do that," she whispered anxiously, grabbing his arm holding his wand under the table.

"Relax," he said with a lazy tone, giving the wand a flick. The man suddenly seemed drawn to something at the bank of windows. The small woman, with her dark blonde hair pulled into a tight bun, reached for her water pitcher while engrossed in a paperback novel. The pitcher turned over, its contents dousing the tall man, as he passed by her table.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the woman, jumping up with her napkin to try to ineffectively dry the soaked pants. She slipped on the water spilled on the floor and the man caught her in his arms, just as the serving staff hurried over to help clean up the mess. The man and woman smiled at each other and went to sit together at a dry table.

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. "That's very cute," she said, watching as the woman tugged her hair out of its bun and the man sat up taller, "but it's risky to try to make people fall in love."

Draco shrugged. "I just brought them together. What people do with the time they have together," he said, staring intently at his dinner partner, "is up to them."

She returned his look, her face flushed. He moved his wand to his other hand then grasped hers, interweaving their fingers. She accepted the contact. "People shouldn't waste the time they have together," he said. Hermione nodded in agreement.

Draco was deep in thought as they walked toward her family's cabin later that night, still holding hands, their feet crunching in the snow. "Do you think I'm weak, Hermione?"

"What do you mean?"

He led her off the path to a clearing, where he created a fire and a cozy bench next to it. He set her down there but didn't seem to be able to sit himself. "I never acted as honorable or brave as you or Potter, or even Weasley," he said, pacing again. "Most of what I've done has been because of fear—trying to kill Dumbledore, joining the Death Eaters, leaving the battle with my mother and father. I'm pathetic and weak."

Hermione was surprised that he would broach this subject with her, then realized she was the only person to whom he could mention his self-disappointment. "Sit, Draco," she said, patting the space next to her. He sat down heavily, his entire body radiating with disgust.

"No, I don't think you're weak. I think you were raised in a way that highlighted your worst traits, rather than your best. You were never encouraged to be brave, just obedient."

"Hmph," said the young man, sitting next to her sheepishly, with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. "So what are my best traits?"

Hermione turned to him and laid a hand on his arm. "You're tenacious and inventive, open to change, surprising, appealing..."

Draco raised his downcast eyes to her.

"Umm," she stammered, suddenly shivering, "You're...uh..."

He put his arms around her. "That's enough," he said softly. "All I want to know now, is if I'm good enough for you."

She swallowed hard, as his fingers traced the planes of her face and his lips moved closer. This time she didn't back away.

"You can kiss me back, Hermione. It won't kill you," he whispered.

She found herself relaxing in his arms, then felt the scratch of leaves on her head. She looked up and saw that Malfoy had produced a plant that was snaking its way from a nearby oak tree, to which it was attached.

"Mistletoe," she said with a laugh.

"A lot of mistletoe," he responded, his lips reaching hers again after obediently pulling off a few of the small, white berries. "This is going to take a while."


	3. More

Draco whistled as he showered the next morning, feeling very pleased with himself. "I kissed Hermione Granger," he said as though he'd met a life-long goal—maybe it had been. But now all he wanted was more. His old-fashioned bathroom in the lodge had a window in the shower and he looked out of it on the sun and snow with anticipation.

A bird suddenly fluttered into view. It was a purpose-driven owl. But the only two wizards here were he and Hermione. It turned from him so that meant...Now that he thought about it, he'd seen that little brown owl before...no.

He got out of the shower and dressed quickly then pounded down the steps to the main room of the lodge. Hermione wasn't there.

"I should've just killed the damn thing," he said harshly about the courier, desperate now to find someplace not filled with people so he could Apparate to her.

He was finally able to do so, then beat his fist on Hermione's door until she opened it. Her look and the letter in her hand told him more than he wanted to know. He stomped in and saw her bag sitting on the floor in the middle of the room.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked her in a deceptively calm voice.

"Shh," she said, casting a Muffliato charm toward her parents' room.

He looked in the crack of the door and saw that they were packing also. "You weren't even going to tell me you were leaving?"

She shook her head. "I wanted to avoid a scene. It's just time to go."

"You're lying," he said, accusation darkening his tone. "You're going back to Weasley."

"Alright," she admitted, stuffing her bag into a much smaller one, "yes, I am."

He looked at her with disappointment. "Hermione, don't do this."

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said, walking around him, "but Ron has my heart. He always has."

Draco paced in frustration. "That's because you haven't given me time to..." He moved closer to her and placed his fingers on the side of her head and closed his eyes.

Hermione felt as though she couldn't move. Draco had continued his practice of Occlumens and Legilimens techniques, begun with his Aunt Bellatrix, and was now quite good at it. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I want you to see what it could be like for us," he explained. She watched as his serious grey eyes became warmer, like flannel.

"You'll have a nice life with Weasley, but we could have so much more—the laughter, the understanding and compatibility, passion. You can see it, can't you?" he said, as his lips moved over her face. "You can feel it." He grasped her in a tight hug, kissing her as though it were his last opportunity.

She pulled away breathless and lowered her eyes. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," he said, trying to capture her gaze.

"No," she insisted, turning away from him, "It doesn't matter because I'm going back to Ron. He needs me."

Draco moved behind her and put his arms around her. "How do you know that I don't?"

Hermione helplessly leaned back against him for a moment, almost succumbing, then she turned in his arms. "Because you're at a Muggle ski lodge," she said with a small smile, her fingers outlining the strength of his jaw. "You take care of yourself, and you adapt." She took his hands and stretched her arms, increasing the distance between them. "I'm very proud of you."

Draco attempted to move closer again but she resisted. "I don't want this to change the progress you've made. Not everyone from the Muggle world is as...unreliable...as I am."

He realized she'd made her decision. "What about them?" he asked, indicating her parents' room.

"They're coming with me. We've all been invited for Christmas dinner at the Burrow."

"Oh, well won't that be the picture of family togetherness," he said snidely.

She sighed in resignation.

"We could go anywhere together, Hermione," he said in a last attempt to win her over. "We could go away from everyone who doesn't appreciate us as much as we do each other."

"No," she said with finality, leading him to the door. "I've chosen the nice life with Ron and my family and his. I hope you find your own."

He looked back at her from his side of the open door. "I have no doubt that I will. But it will never be as good as what we could have had. You don't recognize that now, but you will some day."

He left and Disapparated from the lodge, returning to the cheerless Malfoy Manor.

Hermione brushed the tears from her face and removed the charm on her parents' door. "Mum, Dad, are you ready? Good, just stuff your bags in here...Yes, it will fit, Dad, I swear. Alright. Now both of you just hold my hand and we're off to the Burrow. I can't wait to see Ron again," she said, as she smiled at her mother and felt her squeeze her hand.

* * *

"So that's little Scorpius," Ron said. Hermione, stooped down to clean her young son's face, looked up at the name.

"Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."

"Ron, for heaven's sake," Hermione said, "don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school."

Other images began to run through her mind—of her and Draco on this platform with their own children, pressed lovingly against each other, eager to hurry back home to a newly-empty and cheerful house.

"Stop," she said in her mind. He wasn't even where she could see him and he could still make her see so much.

"I just want you to finally admit it," she heard his voice in her head. "You have a good life; I have a good life. But together we could've been so much..."

The images continued to flash in her mind—some sweet, some sexy, some heart-breaking, all centering around her and Draco, loving and supporting each other in a life that offered so much...

She sighed and whispered, "more".


	4. Jean and Ralph

_**a/n Alternate ending to this story. To Cassie, Blue and Blondielocks, I hope you like this one better**_

* * *

"You'll have a nice life with Weasley, but we could have so much more—the laughter, the understanding and compatibility, passion. You can see it, can't you?" he said, as his lips moved over her face. "You can feel it," he added more intensely, grasping her in a tight hug and kissing her as though it were his last opportunity.

Hermione responded in spite of herself and inched her arms around his neck, pulling him closer until breaking away, breathless. She looked at his patrician face for a moment then said, "I'm a Muggle-born."

"I don't care," answered Draco, trying to kiss her again.

"No, that's not what I mean," she said. She disengaged from him and moved to the seating group in front of the fireplace, surreptitiously sweeping her wand over her parents' door to cause them to gradually fall asleep. She slowly sat down and stared at the fire.

His eyes followed her. "What _do_ you mean?" he asked, throwing up his hands in frustration.

Hermione had her elbow on the armrest of the sofa and her arm propped up to support the side of her head. "It's hard to say without sounding really calculating."

Draco walked over to sit on the fireplace's slate hearth. "Don't worry about that; I appreciate calculating."

She raised her brown eyes to him and he could feel his heart beating.

"I want to belong to the wizarding community," she explained hesitantly, "but I don't really have a connection to it, other than my relationships with Harry, Ron and...his family."

Draco snorted softly. "So that's Weasley's appeal—the whole ginger mob?"

Her head shot up. "No, I love Ron."

His look was total befuddlement as he asked, "Why?"

She smiled softly. "I feel so much with him. Exasperation, yes, but there's also companionship, affection..."

"Passion, heat?" interjected Draco.

She looked down. "That time in sixth year when he was poisoned..."

"You mean the time he drank the poisoned mead that I intended for Dumbledore," Draco stated matter-of-factly, stretching his legs in front of him, ankles crossed.

Hermione raised her eyes again. "I'd forgotten that part." She sighed and glanced around the cozy great room, smiling at the gentle snoring now coming from behind her parents' door. "I was so frightened of losing him then and I was so jealous that whole time he was with Lavender Brown." She turned back to the blond man in front of the fire. "I was never jealous of Pansy Parkinson."

Draco snickered as he rose from the hearth and sat next to Hermione on the sofa. "Well, she was always jealous of you."

"Why?"

He turned toward her and took her hand. "Because since Pansy wanted my attention so badly, she knew something you didn't—that it was always directed at you."

Hermione's pulse raced when he held her hand. Listening to him now, she wondered if he could feel it.

"Probably from the day that you punched me, you've been my guilty obsession. And, considering how I was raised, you can imagine my confusion, self-disgust, yet still elation whenever I saw you. What were you saying about Ron making you feel so much? I run through a gamut of emotions just thinking about you."

Her eyes were glued to his face as he made his admission. Now he looked away and withdrew his hand, suddenly timid. "I heard you once tell somebody that you were going skiing with your mother and father."

Hermione's quick mind understood. She responded with a light intake of breath.

"That's right, clever girl," he said, "I've been haunting ski lodges ever since, hoping I might find you."

She shook her head in puzzlement. "Draco, we never spoke. Some years you'd done horrible things just before Christmas holiday. How..."

He pushed out a huge sigh. "Don't try to make sense of it, Granger. I've never been able to." He pulled the front of his sweater away from him, as if he were too warm, then glanced at her again. "Will you take a walk with me?"

"Alright," she said, getting her jacket from her pile of luggage in the middle of the room.

During their conversation, Ron's owl Pigwidgeon had flapped his wings impatiently, awaiting the answer to return to his master. Draco addressed him now from the open door. "Come along, molter. You need some open space too."

Outside, the sun and crisp air seemed to innervate Draco and he spoke more assuredly. "You know, if things hadn't been the way they were at Hogwarts and with my family, we would have been naturally drawn to each other."

He took her hand again, as they eschewed the path and instead tramped over the snowy terrain, having cast spells to keep warm and sure-footed. Someone following their prints later would observe how the tell-tale marks moved closer, an indication that the couple had unconsciously closed the distance between them.

"You were always so lovely," Draco observed, "even before you fixed your teeth."

"How did you know about that?"

He chuckled. "I told you; you always had my attention. Anyway, we were both leaders in our houses, top of our class and, as we've proven this week, strongly attracted to each other."

She couldn't argue the point so continued to listen without comment.

He spoke more carefully now. "I thought if we should ever see each other away from school and all of our influences, that we could just be ourselves and maybe we'd have a chance. That's all I've ever wanted. Well, not all," he said, stopping to put his arms around her and drill his heather eyes into her brain, "but I had to have the chance first."

Hermione looked up at him, wondering if he was employing a more subtle form of Legilimency, because she felt entranced.

He leaned down for a small kiss. "Stay, Hermione. Give us the chance."

Again she wrapped her arms around him and deepened the kiss, pressing herself against him more brazenly than she'd ever done in her life.

"Does Weasley bring this out in you?" he asked hoarsely, his fingers tangling in her hair, as he tried to draw her even closer.

"No," she admitted. She made a decision. "Do you have a quill?"

He produced a ready-ink quill with a grin and she called to the small owl, who hadn't let the couple out of his sight.

Hermione attached the note to his leg and watched the bird fly off with what she'd imagined her future to be.

Draco wrapped his arms around her from behind and buried his face between her neck and shoulder. "We'll have dinner with your mother and father tonight. I'll be so charming, I'll have all three of you eating out of the palm of my hand."

"You better be," she said, "because I just gave up the largest magical family circle in England for you."

He pulled his arms around her more tightly. "Maybe this is all the circle you need."

She rested her hands on his arms and leaned back against him. "Maybe."

He was quiet for a moment then turned her to face him. "Actually, I can't believe that the girl responsible for SPEW and Dumbledore's Army never organized all of the Muggle-borns at school."

"What?"

He grinned down at her. "Think about it. That would be your obvious support group, unless you really need a Pure-blood family to give you validation."

She gave him a withering look and his smile broadened. "And another thing...I don't like your name."

"You don't?" she asked, a little hurt.

"No, and I don't always want to call you Granger either. For some time I've been thinking of you as Jean."

"You know my middle name?"

He pointed to himself. "Obsessed, remember?"

She laughed. "Not Jeanoria or Jeanadora or some other pompous variation?"

"No, just Jean—something no one else calls you. It's all mine."

"Hmmm," she said playfully, "then I should tell you, I've never liked Draco."

"What," he said, raising his voice, "it's a noble, magnificent name."

She shook her head, her eyes gleaming. "Pompous. I think I'll call you...Ralph."

His affronted gasp set her giggling. Smiling down at her, he said, "Alright, Ralph it is. We'll find a place for you when we get back and you can start organizing your group, if that's something you want to do."

"Possibly I can include Half-bloods too," she said, warming up to the idea. We could be the Society for Un-Pure Magical Endeavors."

He snickered. "SUPME? Sounds like a fun group. I wish I could join."

"Draco Malfoy in a club for Mudbloods and Half-bloods," she said in mock horror.

"Not Draco," he said, lowering his head to kiss her again, "Ralph."

The person later following their footprints would be surprised how they suddenly stopped, as if the couple had disappeared. As they Apparated back to the cabin, Pigwidgeon continued his flight, carrying a polite "Dear Ron..." letter. Hermione knew he would never completely turn away from her, even after this rejection.

Still she'd chosen Draco, the young man who stirred her mind and body, giving him, giving them, all that he said he'd ever wanted—a chance.


End file.
